


Real Love

by wildwordwomyn



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Humor, Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-06
Updated: 2008-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-09 13:39:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildwordwomyn/pseuds/wildwordwomyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen gives his interpretation of what real love is like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Real Love

Falling in love, the real ebb and flow of it, is not fireworks. It's not Christmas and New Year's, and every other holiday on the calendar rolled into one. It's not butterfly wings flapping madly in your stomach or sweaty palms or a lispy stutter that won't go away or even wanting to be around him every second of every day when there are moments where bitch-slapping the taste of stupid from his mouth is top on your list of things to do.

Just like friendship, when it's true, isn't free. It's not all laughter and easy times. It's not obligation or imbalance or tallying up favors or never saying sorry or perfect understanding or bloodlessness because he should know better or every once in a while holding back that tear or hand when it's needed most.

"Jay?" You're at Jared's house in Vancouver. It's 8 a.m., the sun is out, birds are chirping and Jay has just ruined the good mood he put you in.

"Huh?"

"Is there a reason you're taking a dump with the bathroom door open?" You were about to head downstairs and cook breakfast. You were feeling satisfied after just fucking him so hard into his bed that he'll be feeling you for days but the foul smell leaking from the bathroom has killed whatever desire you had for round three.

"No." He sits there looking innocently up at you, somehow missing the point of the hand covering your nose and mouth.

"So, what? You just didn't think about it?" At this juncture you're seriously starting to wonder what in the world you see in him while your appetite disappears.

"No," still looking at you. Through the fumes watering your eyes you notice he's got your latest issue of Esquire open in his lap. He tenses a minute, then releases with a loud plop and enough toxic gas to kill an army of elephants.

"…Jesus, Jay! Somethin' crawled up in you and died!" You cough, then gag when the coughing brings more of the smell into your lungs. "OHGODOhGodcan'tbreathe!" you whisper as you stumble away from him out into the hallway.

"Jen?" he calls out after you. You turn and hope you can hold whatever breath you have left until you get downstairs. "I feel…" a soft grunt and a blink, "much better now." Your eyes widen in horror as you imagine your body next to his dogs on the floor of the living room, your tongues white when the ME pronounces the three of you dead by poisoning. "You know what enchiladas with refried beans and corn do to me, Jen!..." he yells to your quickly retreating back.

See, for you, falling in love is friendship and sex woven together so intricately you can't tell which state is which anymore. It's him knowing and keeping all your dirty little secrets, then using every single one against you until you promise to blow him on the kitchen floor no matter how many times Harley and Sadie lick your face. It's you automatically fixing him a cup of coffee before work with a spoonful of creamer and four spoonfuls of sugar though you regret it a half hour after he takes his last sip when he inevitably sings the newest pop song in your ear during the first couple takes.

"Jeeennnn…" he singsongs, bounding naked down the stairs to flop onto the couch beside you. He catches himself too late and sighs, moving into a position that puts less strain on his abused asshole. "…..Whatcha watchin?" He takes the remote from your hand and drapes a leg over yours as if casual and obscene naturally co-exist.

"There is something very wrong with you. You know that, right?" You feel your dick twitch at the sight of his swollen, half-hard manhood.

"No…I'm hungry….." he complains right as his stomach grumbles. You roll your eyes, fighting not to smile.

"So get something. Kitchen's ten feet away, Jay."

"But my ass hurts." The puppy dog look that you just know Sadie taught him comes next. "Please?"

"Okay, okay. Fine." You're wearing your favorite ratty t-shirt and yesterday's boxers and you're comfortable, but when you push him away to stand your flesh pebbles from the chill leaving him always produces.

"After I get done eating I think I might have to take my turn on top," he decides when you turn to walk away, running a warm hand smoothly up the back leg of your boxers. He dutifully ignores the slight pause in your step. In the kitchen where a whole wall separates you a tender contentment steals over you, followed by a disgusted frown when you hear him yell, "And no enchiladas, okay, Jen?" seconds later.

 

See, it's all about putting love, any kind of love, into perspective…


End file.
